


who are you wearing?

by geralehane



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Halloween Special, Magic, btvs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 01:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12571120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geralehane/pseuds/geralehane
Summary: a concept: an old lady in an old shop selling old costumes for halloween. nothing out of ordinary. except this shop most certainly wasn’t there yesterday, and the lady keeps giggling to herself, and the costumes have a minor peculiarity to them. hint: they transform their wearers into a more real version of that costume. of course they do.and of course, clarke and lexa have no idea.





	who are you wearing?

**Author's Note:**

> another halloween special, this time based on a classic buffy halloween episode! was previously published on my website.
> 
> this has a couple of tiny easter eggs, so let me know in a comment if you found them all: i think avid buffy fans (like myself) will be pretty giddy about them :)
> 
> check out [my website](http://geralehane.com/) for more of my works!
> 
> and follow me on:   
> [tumblr](http://geralehane.tumblr.com/)   
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thegeralehane)  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thegeralehane)
> 
> enjoy your read!

 

 

“I will never understand your obsession with Halloween,” is the first thing Lexa announces when Clarke walks inside their favorite coffee shop near their campus. “But what baffles me even more is the fact that despite your ridiculous obsession with it, you still don’t have a costume.”

 

“You just had to bring that up, didn’t you?”

 

Lexa’s green eyes widen with indignation. “That’s the whole reason you called me here,” she points out, and Clarke groans, plopping onto a chair next to her. This is a disaster.

 

“This is a disaster! I will never find a costume. Halloween is today. What do I do?”

 

“Again,” Lexa says. “We’ve been over this. I meet you here, we get coffee, we go costume-hunting. Clarke,” she searches blue eyes, her gaze concerned. “Is everything okay?”

 

Clarke sighs and blows blonde hair from her eyes, propping her cheek up with her hand. “Yeah,” she sighs distractedly. “More or less. This semester is kicking my ass. And I’m pretty sure I failed my psych midterm.”

 

“Well.” Lexa bends her head down a little so she can catch Clarke’s eyes. When she does, she gives her a small smile and gently pushes hot chocolate towards her, gaze softening when Clarke grumpily takes it and peeks under the cup lid. Her smile only grows when Clarke lights up at having found two marshmallows she was hoping for. “That explains you not having a costume this year.”

 

“Here you go with bringing that up again.”

 

“Come on, Clarke.” She looks up at the smile in Lexa’s voice. Green eyes watch her, adoring and warm, and she feels some of her bad mood evaporate. It’s hard to stay upset when you have someone look at you like that.

 

Too bad that someone only goes as far as simply _looking_. Clarke sighs again, this time for a whole other reason that, unbeknownst to Lexa, has nothing to do with Halloween and everything to do with _her_.

 

She was really looking forward to tonight. Ever since Lexa’s kissed her at the beginning of their sophomore year, she’s been mulling some things over. Things like her recent break-up with Finn and her level of readiness for new relationships.

 

(And also things like Lexa looking really hot in tank tops.)

 

Anyway, her thinking resulted in some interesting conclusions and revelations that at first she wasn’t really ready to share with Lexa. But over the course of these two months, she’s been slowly opening herself up to the possibility of accepting Lexa’s offer that the other girl wordlessly left at the table, Clarke’s for the taking. She only hopes it doesn’t have an expiration date.

 

She also really, really hopes it’s still there to begin with. Or else she’ll look all kinds of stupid kissing Lexa tonight.

 

Doesn’t matter, though. She’ll look stupid anyway. Because she doesn’t have a costume.

 

Clarke groans and lets her head fall on her folded arms on the table. She half-sits, half-lays there, unmoving, not phased in the slightest when Lexa starts to carefully poke at her.

 

“Clarke,” Lexa says again, fond exasperation coloring her voice. “We’ll find you a costume. It won’t be a very good costume, but it’ll be something.”

 

“Thanks,” Clarke deadpans into her arm. “You ever think about becoming a motivational speaker? Could be a decent source of income if the whole lawyer thing doesn’t work out.”

 

“Look,” Lexa’s hand on her arm makes her lift her eyes. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t have a costume either.”

 

“Not really. Now I just feel sorry for both of us.”

 

Lexa snorts. The sound is so uncharacteristically undignified, and it makes Clarke’s chest flood with warmth. A weird thing to have fuzzy tingles over, sure. But - Lexa’s only ever like this with her. No one else. To Clarke, that’s something to cherish. “Okay. Didn’t think it would come to this, but you leave me no choice.” She pauses, no doubt for a dramatic effect. “I will let you choose my costume this year.”

 

“Really?!” Clarke jumps up, eyes wide. “Are you serious? Wait, I forgot who I was talking to for a second. Of course you're serious.”

 

“You’re a riot today,” Lexa notes dryly. “I’m gonna be a robot, aren’t I?”

 

Clarke scoffs. “Please,” she says. “Give me a little more credit than that.”

 

//

 

“Why.” Lexa stares at Clarke through the mirror, and the incredulity of her gaze makes Clarke seriously question her intellectual ability.

 

“You didn’t have to put it on, you know.”

 

“I wanted to demonstrate what a bad idea this is.”

 

Clarke shrugs. “Mission failed,” she lets Lexa know. “I think you look adorable.”

 

Lexa huffs, folding her arms defensively. “It’s a raccoon onesie,” she points out.

 

“I know,” Clarke replies in kind, barely resisting from sticking her tongue out at her. “I chose it.”

 

“Clarke,” Lexa sighs, uncrossing her arms and tugging on a fluffy ear on her hood. “I can’t go in a raccoon onesie.”

 

Clarke thinks of torturing her just a little bit more, but then reconsiders. Lexa’s already doing a lot for her. Besides, she really does look incredibly cute in this. And, well, in general, but she keeps that thought to herself. For now. “Fine,” she concedes, letting her arms hang lifelessly at her sides. “I give up. I told you we won’t find any good costumes. I’ll just be what I always am at parties. Drunk Clarke.” At Lexa’s disapproving glance, she rolls her eyes. “What? It’s not like I have a choice.”

 

“Right.” Lexa walks back into the changing room, long fluffy tail trailing after her on the floor. Clarke resists against the urge to step on it and makes a mental note to come back for it later. She sits on a small bench and sighs, waiting for Lexa to change so they can get out of there. This is their fourth store, and so far, nothing. Well, not exactly nothing, per se; a lot of crap, that’s for sure.

 

Lexa emerges several minutes later, holding the onesie at an arm’s length and glaring at everything and nothing in particular. “We could always wear crappy costumes ironically,” she says. “Pretend we’re being subversive.”

 

“I don’t want to subvert Halloween,” Clarke protests, rising to her feet. Lexa offers her an elbow, and she takes it, tentatively curling her hand around her bicep. At least something good came out of this whole mess, she thinks. A day with Lexa, followed by a night of partying with Lexa.

 

She’s not sure she even cares about a stupid costume anymore. But Lexa’s being so attentive - even more so than usual - and she can’t help but milk it for what it’s worth. Hey, she never claimed to be a good person.

 

“Just ironically, then,” Lexa corrects herself, throwing the onesie over the nearest rack as she confidently leads the way out of the store and into the street. “Or go with some annoying couple’s costume or something.” She’s trying really hard to sound casual, Clarke can tell.

 

She can tell because Lexa’s failing miserably. And she’s pretty sure she’s about to fail as spectacularly.

 

“Oh,” she says, cursing inwardly when her voice comes out more high-pitched than usual. “I mean. Oh. I didn’t even think of that.”

 

Lexa’s face falls slightly, and Clarke just wants to punch herself. She hurries to do damage control. “Because I didn’t want to force you into something you didn’t want to do! Because - I mean - I didn’t want to, uh, to assume anything. Because of… stuff. Us stuff, I mean.” by the time she’s finished with her babble fest, her face feels hot. Lexa keeps silent through all of it, slowing down so that they are standing still when Clarke’s done making a complete fool of herself.

 

When it’s clear she’s finished talking, Lexa speaks up. “I suggested this precisely because of… us stuff.”

 

Clarke blinks. “Oh.” And, seriously, can she say something other than that?

 

Lexa’s studying her carefully, her expression unreadable save for her eyes, vibrant and soft. “Are you - is that okay?” she asks.

 

“Oh, Lexa,” Clarke breathes out, smiling. All tension is suddenly gone from her body, replaced with relief and excitement, buzzing through her veins. “It’s more than okay,” she murmurs, sliding her hand down to Lexa’s and taking it in her own. Lexa’s fingers automatically lace with her own, and she feels a sweet pang in her chest at that. “I… I’ve been meaning to talk to you about… stuff.”

 

“Us stuff?” Lexa clarifies, smiling her small smile that Clarke really, really wants to kiss off her face. She swallows, willing herself to stay put. At least buy her dinner first, Griffin, she tells herself sternly. After what you’ve put her through, this is the least you can do.

 

(There... may have been some casual hook-ups between breaking up with Finn and realizing Grand Things about her relationship with Lexa that she doesn’t want to think about. If the sharp lock of Lexa’s jaw at a mere mention of them is any indication, she probably doesn’t want to think about them, either.)

 

So she takes a deep breath and smiles again, shyly. “Yes. Definitely us stuff.”

 

She wants to say something else, she knows she does. She has a speech prepared and everything - but Lexa’s eyes fall down to her lips, hooded and soft, and suddenly her mind is blank. And, really, don’t actions speak louder than words anyway?

 

She’s already leaning in and closing her eyes, but she’s met with nothing when she hears Lexa’s voice again, a little scratchier and deeper than usual. “I think I found just the place.”

 

Clarke’s eyes fly open. Well, that was fast. She’s not the type of girl to shy away from putting out on a first date, but - they haven’t even had that date yet.

 

(Would that really be a bad thing? They’ve known each other for a long time. A year is a long time, right?)

 

“The place?” she asks, confused.

 

Lexa’s looking somewhere over her shoulder as she nods, in the direction of her gaze. “I think that’s exactly what you want,” she says. “It closes in twenty minutes, though. We should hurry.”

 

Clarke turns around, following Lexa’s stare. What she finds has her nearly squealing. And she doesn’t squeal. Ever. “Lexa,” she breathes excitedly. “This is perfect.”

 

Further down the street, there is a small shop. It’s antique-looking; a little rugged and a little run-down. Its small store windows display a myriad of halloween-themed things, from skulls to witch hats and what Clarke assumes are possible spell ingredients. Above the old, wooden door, there is a neon sign that couldn’t possibly look more out of place.

 

‘Costumes for every soul’, it flashes ominously and invitingly, luring Clarke in.

 

“It… actually is,” Lexa mulles. “Very… Halloween-y. It’s like it’s straight out of a Tim Burton movie.”

 

Clarke’s already walking towards it, her hand firmly holding onto Lexa’s, and Lexa has no choice but to follow.

 

The inside is even better than the outside, in Clarke’s honest - and totally right - opinion. It’s dusty, old wood creaking and red brick walls uneven. It’s also more spacious than she originally gave it credit for. Lexa’s hand squeezes hers, and she squeezes back, looking around in complete awe.

 

She’d, like, actually live here.

 

“This is so cool,” she hears Lexa exhale next to her.

 

“I thought you didn’t like Halloween.”

 

“I can appreciate the aesthetics,” Lexa fires back, but, before they can settle into their comfortable banter, loud coughing behind them makes them jump and sharply turn around to face the counter.

 

They are greeted by the sight of an old lady in a pointy hat, looking at them with a suspicious squint. “Not stealing, are you?” she utters, and her eyes narrow even further.

 

Clarke shakes her head while Lexa breathes through her nose, indignant. “No, we’re not stealing anything,” she reassures the old lady who doesn’t look like she believes her. “We’re here to find a costume. For both us.”

 

The lady looks between them. Glances down at their joined hands, and Clarke bristles when her scowl deepens. “A couple’s costume?” she grunts, clearly displeased.

 

Clarke lifts her chin. “Yes,” she says defiantly, tightening her hand around Lexa’s. “A couple’s costume.”

 

She prepares herself for the inevitable backlash they are about to face, no doubt. She certainly doesn’t expect a wide smile to appear on the lady’s face, brightening her expression up.

 

She almost flinches when the woman clasps her hands together, looking positively giddy. “Well, dear,” she exclaims, “why didn’t you say so? No need to be shy in this shop, my sweet girl.” With an agility rarely possessed by people her age, the old lady walks out from behind the counter and hugs them by their shoulders, turning them around and leading them somewhere in the middle of the shop. Her dark-green robe trails after them on the ground. “I’ve just the thing for you, oh,” she leans in conspiratorially, grinning. “You’ll have a lot of fun tonight, my dear girl - a lot of fun!”

 

In hindsight, that should’ve been their cue to run away and never come back.

 

Of course, they stay put. “Okay,” Clarke says dubiously, blinking. “But we really just need a decent costume. Two.”

 

“Well, who d’you wanna be, darlin’?” she only now notices that the woman’s accent is drifting between extremes: Boston, british, southern drawl. Huh, she thinks to herself. She must have been an actress. Or wanted to be one.

 

“We, are,” Clarke glances at Lexa who’s watching the whole exchange with a small frown. “We’re not sure.”

 

“Well, that just will not do!” the woman gasps. “A serious matter, darlin’ - now would you like me to find something for ya or do you want to snoop around for a while?”

 

“We’ll look around,” Lexa finally speaks up, neutrally. “We won’t be long. Thank you.”

 

“But of course,” the woman’s smile widens even more, if that’s possible. “I shall leave you two to it. Grumpy little thang, that one - you take care of her, sweetheart,” she tells Clarke before turning sharply on her heels and disappearing between racks full of costumes.

 

“Okay. Let’s get out of here,” Lexa tries to move, but Clarke’s grip on her han becomes iron.

 

“Lexa,” she chuckles quietly. “Are you scared of that sweet old lady?”

 

“She’s not sweet, Clarke, she’s unsettling,” Lexa says in a serious tone.

 

Clarke only laughs harder. “I’m supposed to be the paranoid one, with the amount of horror movies I watch,” she teases Lexa. “Yet, here we are.”

 

“I just have a bad feeling about this,” Lexa tries weakly. But Clarke’s mind is already made up.

 

“Come on,” she tugs on her hand. The realization that they’ve been holding hands this entire time spreads pleasant hum through her body, and she eagerly welcomes it, running her thumb across the back of Lexa’s hand soothingly. “We promised we wouldn’t take long. Let’s find something cool.”

 

//

 

“So,” Lexa cocks her head to the side, looking Clarke up and down. “A quiet meltdown, an entire day, and five stores later, and you pick the cheesiest costume of all?”

 

Clarke finishes putting fake blood all over her mouth. “Wow,” she muses out loud. “You are a grumpy little thang.”

 

Lexa doesn’t even blink. “I am,” she says. “You already knew that.”

 

“Eh,” Clarke shrugs, readjusting the skirts of her dress. “I’m grumpier.”

 

Lexa can’t exactly argue, so she sighs and tugs on her black frock coat, critically surveying herself in Clarke’s mirror. “I don’t think I have enough blood on my shirt,” she comments. “I just look like a southern gentleman from the nineteenth century. Not a vampire.” She glances at Clarke again. “Are we really going as vampires?”

 

“Yup,” Clarke pops the ‘p’ when she answers. She’s almost finished with her make-up - it’s the darkest she’s ever wore it, and she can’t say she hates it. Dial it down a notch, and it could be a great look for dates at a bar.

 

Or private lapdances. They’ll figure it out. “Victorian vampires. You can’t go wrong with the classics.” Admittedly, she’s a little surprised with her own choice. But there was something about these costumes that hung in the back, looking brand new and perfectly tailored. The old lady practically squealed when she saw them wearing those, too.

 

The fact that she offered them fifty percent off only made her choice easier.

 

“There is classic, and there is cheesy,” Lexa notes thoughtfully, still looking at herself in the mirror. Oh, how Clarke gets her, She has trouble taking her eyes off Lexa, too. The frock coat accentuates her slim waist and regal posture. High pants show off her endlessly long legs, and a purposefully disheveled necktie around an open collar gives a lovely view of her slender neck.

 

Clarke comes up to her and fiddles with her tie some more before dipping her fingers in fake blood and dragging them down that beautiful neck, slowly, watching rich crimson color drip on the pristine white of Lexa’s shirt. And Lexa watches her.

 

“You do look great, you know,” she murmurs to her, lifting her hand to play with blonde locks. “Curls suit you.”

 

“They disarm people,” Clarke smirks, and if it’s just a touch wicked, Lexa doesn’t say anything. She’s really feeling this costume, okay? “I’m not really above using that to my advantage,” she says, dropping her voice an octave lower. She’s wearing flats, since she’s pretty sure she’ll constantly trip over her long dress in heels, and that gives Lexa a bigger height advantage than usual. Her shoes also have a small heel, which only serves to make her look taller than Clarke.

 

She thinks she’s okay with it.

 

“Spoken like a true Victorian vampire,” Lexa chuckles, her warm, minty breath hitting Clarke’s lips. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not really that cheesy.” She turns to look at them in the mirror, missing a slightly frustrated look that flashes through blue eyes.

 

‘Why won’t she just kiss me?’

 

(‘Is she waiting for a perfect moment, like I was?’)

 

“Yeah, well,” she voices instead, grabbing a wet wipe and cleaning the blood off her fingers. “With all the Batmans and Robins, we’ll definitely stand out.”

 

“You’re right,” Lexa gently takes her hand and places it on the inside of her bent elbow, and she smiles, leaning closer. “Now, I don’t know about you, dear,” Lexa drawls - or tries to - in her best British accent, “but I am positively hungry. Shall we show them how it’s done?”

 

“Yes, we shall,” Clarke chuckles, letting Lexa lead her out the door. “Tasteful mayhem, here we come.”

 

“And ruckus,” Lexa says. “Don’t forget ruckus.”

 

“I don’t think that’s the right word.”

 

“Whatever. I’m Victorian.”

 

//

 

“Boo!” Someone with a white sheet draped over them jumps from behind the door and screams out as soon as Clarke and Lexa walk in. Clarke screams back while Lexa drags a hand down her face.

 

“Raven, what the fuck?!”

 

Raven - and that’s exactly who it is, considering it’s her house they walked into - tugs the sheet off, grinning at them. “I totally got you, Woods,” she boasts, leaning on her good leg and lifting the cane to wave it in Lexa’s general direction. “Okay, this? Hot. You seeing anyone?”

 

“Only her sire and eternal lover,” Clarke says, and there is only a hint of joking in her tone. She gestures at herself, twirling so Raven can get a good look. “What do you say?”

 

Raven’s silent for a fraction of a second. “Hot,” she repeats, this time giving them both a once-over. “Alright, I just need to grab my jacket, and then we can go.” She turns, heading into the kitchen. “Blood kink’s definitely back on the list,” she mutters under her breath.

 

“What was that, Raven?”

 

“Nothing!”

 

Clarke shrugs. “See,” she says to Lexa who’s still shaking her head at Raven’s back. “Told you this is an awesome idea.”

 

“I’m already sold,” Lexa replies, smiling. “She’s right, you know.”

 

Clarke hums under her breath. “Right about what?” She’s really enjoying watching the tips of Lexa’s ears grow red.

 

“You are hot.”

 

The sound of gagging coming from their left makes them step away from each other - Clarke hasn’t even noticed when they got this close. “Get a room, eternal lover.”

 

“Get a costume,” Clarke shoots back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Please don’t tell me you’re going as your bedsheet.”

 

“Alright,” Raven shrugs, rolling the white sheet up and putting it under her arm. “I won’t.” At Clarke’s pointed stare, she scoffs. “Obviously not, Clarke. I’m a ghost! See?” She shakes the sheet in front of Clarke’s nose, laughing when she recoils, scowling.

 

“I can’t believe we stressed over our costumes so much and you’re going to put a sheet on.”

 

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s not my bedsheet. I bought it in this weird ass little shop downtown. Two bucks, baby!” Raven exclaims. “Whoa, easy there,” she says next, noticing Lexa flex her jaw muscles in irritation. “She’s all yours. Don’t mean no harm.”

 

“That’s a double negative.”

 

“Wow.” Raven gapes at her. “I’m wearing a sheet and I’m still cooler than both of you combined. Tonight’s gonna be so awesome!”

 

//

 

Tonight, in fact, does not turn out to be awesome at all. They don’t even make it to the party when something strange happens. And by strange, Clarke means some weird shit is going down.

 

At first, they feel dizzy. All three of them. Raven staggers first, almost losing her sheet. That’s what prompts her to tug it on. Clarke will never understand how her mind operates sometimes.

 

Lexa falters next, and Clarke follows immediately after, stopping and rubbing her forehead.

 

“Whoa,” Raven mumbles from under the sheet. “Headrush.”

 

“Yeah,” Lexa says. She goes to say something else, but words die in her throat when she stares over Raven’s shoulder who’s come to stand in front of them. “What the fuck?”

 

Clarke’s not sure what shakes her more - hearing Lexa swear or seeing what she sees next. Right here, in front of her very eyes, is the ugliest mob she’s ever seen. At first, she thinks it’s just a bunch of dudes wearing masks.

 

Until one of the dudes pins a screaming guy against a tree and bites his arm with his very real, very sharp, very inhuman teeth.

 

There were children here, on the street, trick-or-treating. Just now. Just a second ago. Where did they go?

 

Clarke hears a scream. It takes her awhile to realize it’s coming from her.

 

What the fuck, indeed.

 

“Come on,” she hears a familiar voice in her ear before she feels strong arms around her. “Let’s get back inside!”

 

Clarke can’t tear her eyes away from the scene before her. There’s so much blood. Actual blood. Someone runs up to help the poor guy; two men who wrestle the attacker and drag the victim away. So much blood. So much…

 

Blood…

 

Blood.

 

They barely make it back to Raven’s before they all collapse, breath caught from dull pain spreading brought their bodies starting at the center of their stomachs. Clarke briefly wonders if they are about to be sick from what they've witnessed, and then her mind goes blank.

 

When she rises back up, her finger lazily wiping at her mouth, everything is sharp and vivid and this sticky substance on her lips tastes heavenly.

 

Blood.

 

Lexa's eyes find hers, dark and bloodshot.

 

“Clarke.” Oh, how she missed that sound. Lexa's tongue curling around the edges of her name, ending with a soft click. She’s been deprived of it for a little over a century, and out of all tortures she had to endure in her lifetime, this has proved to be the worst one.

 

“My love,” she breathes, grasping the back of her neck, trailing her finger up her neck and gathering thick, fresh blood - she always was a messy eater, Clarke thinks with a blissful grin. “I found you.”

 

Behind them, Raven sits up, clutching her head and groaning. “What the…” she lifts her eyes that widen when they are greeted by the sight of her friends passionately making out right in her hallway.

 

But that shock is nothing compared to her glancing down and seeing what suspiciously looks like her own body lying lifelessly on the ground while she sits right in the middle of it. Like, right in the middle of it. As if she’s incorporeal, like an actual ghosts.

 

“What the fuck?!” seems like an appropriate phrase right about now.

 

She’s still staring at her own body, terrified, when she notices the house has grown silent, save for the sounds of mayhem outside. When she raises her eyes for a second time, she finds Clarke and Lexa studying her with rapt interest, identical smoldering gazes burning through her as Lexa presses her forehead to Clarke’s cheek, biting her lip at Clarke slowly dragging her nails across her jawline.

 

This is creepy and weirdly sexual. Normally, Raven would be all for that, but right now, with her seemingly dead body on the floor and two of her friends eyeing her like she’s meat on a stick, she’d much rather opt out of all of this.

 

“Come, darling,” Clarke says in what is actually a really good British accent. “Dinner is served.”

 

//

 

Since Raven is a fucking ghost now and Victorian vampires are apparently above drinking from the corpse, dinner party stops before it has a chance to begin. And there is no doubt in Raven’s mind that Clarke and Lexa are actual honest-to-god blood-drinking sun-hating cross-fearing weirdly-into-making-out-against-walls vampires.

 

The last part throws her off the most, because when they come back to their normal selves - and Raven can’t bear the thought of that not happening - knowing both of them, they are going to blame themselves and take forever to reconcile due to impressive emotional constipation on both ends. She’s surprised they even made it this far in the first place. Well. ‘Going to a Halloween party together’ this far. Not ‘about to have shameful and undoubtedly kinky sex on her couch’ this far. That was not a good far.

 

“Stop this!” she shouts, trying to haul Lexa off Clarke and helplessly watching as her arms pass right through her. “Lexa, you will regret this tomorrow, I’m telling you.”

 

Lexa growls. “I do not do regrets, little girl.”

 

“Yeah, well, you should’ve seen yourself last Christmas.” Raven huffs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Too bad you don’t remember any of it.”

 

That’s the icing on top of this pile of shit that’s trying to pass as cake. Neither Clarke nor Lexa remember who they actually are. They’ve gone full-on MIstresses of the night or whatever.

 

And they are about to make the biggest mistake of their lives.

 

“Lexa, do not... Where’s your hand? Lexa, where’s your damn hand?! Oh my god - don’t bite her! Clarke, don’t you bite her back!”

 

_Where are the Blakes when you need them?_

 

Right on cue, her living room window shatters because a body comes hurling right through it, rolling over on the floor and springing to feet faster than lightning. “Civilians!” the overly excited body shouts in a deep voice, clutching an assault rifle in a confident grip. “We gotta get them to safety!”

 

“They were safe before you went all Universal Soldier on them, you moron,” a grumpy voice replies before the owner climbs in as well, mindful of the glass. “Raven’s going to kill you.”

 

“Who’s Raven?”

 

“She’s standing right in front of you - man, this is some dope shit you’re on,” Octavia informs her brother. The Blakes stare at Raven, one mildly apologetic and another with a blank look on his face.

 

“Great. Bellamy doesn’t remember anything, either, does he,” Raven says. Octavia shakes her head and walks up to her to give her a quick hug. Of course, she fails miserably. Her blue eyes widen with shock.

 

“Wha - how?! What the fuck’s going on?”

 

“You tell me,” Raven mumbles, taking a step back because seeing Octavia’s hand inside her chest is more than a little disturbing. “Let me guess. Bellamy is a soldier for Halloween.”

 

“Yeah, only he took it to a whole new level,” the last part is sneered at the boy as Octavia scowls. “He broke your goddamn window. Did you see that?”

 

“Was kinda hard not to. Okay, I have this insane theory that doesn’t make sense, only it’s the only thing that does. So here goes. I’m pretty sure we became our costumes. Like, half an hour ago. Bell’s a soldier,” she nods at Octavia’s brother who stands, unmoving, in a dark-green tank-top and military pants. “I, the idiot I am, went as a ghost,” she waves a hand over herself. “And our resident power couple went as vampires.” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, her eyes widen. “Oh shit. You’re - you guys are alive. Which means they can eat you.”

 

“Observant,” Clarke comments from the couch, her dress hiked up and half-unzipped, showing off stockings and pale shoulders. Damn, Lexa’s smooth. “I think I like this poor soul, may she never rest in peace.”

 

“That level of evil is completely unnecessary,” Raven mumbles.

 

Octavia whistles. “Her accent is actually really impressive.”

 

Raven doesn’t have time to think of a snappy reply, because Lexa chooses that moment to rise to her feet, eyes glinting with hunger and blood smeared over her neck and shirt. It’s not fake anymore. “Come, love,” she murmurs to Clarke, courteously extending her hand and helping her up. “Let’s feast. You will need all the strength for what I have planned for you tonight.”

 

“She’s talking about sex, right,” Octavia whispers to Raven.

 

“You don’t wanna know where Lexa’s hand was before you barged in. Also, I think you need to run. And fast.”

 

Lexa lets out a low, rumbling growl, her and Clarke slipping into their vampire faces. It’s downright terrifying - the way their foreheads grow bumps and their eyes burn a bright yellow, sharp teeth bared in a snarl. Octavia seems to think so, too, because she lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched shriek. Raven makes a mental note to tease her about it tomorrow.

 

GIven that they make it out of here alive.

 

“Out of the way, lady,” Bellamy roars, rushing forward and standing between them and the vampires, his rifle ready. “The no-shooting order is still in place?” he asks, his eyes trained on Clarke and Lexa who are slowly advancing on them, looking amused.

 

“Don’t shoot!” Raven panics. “You may not remember it, but they are your friends. Well. Kind of.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Bellamy states. Right before Lexa takes him by his neck and throws him into a wall.

 

“Holy shit!” his sister yelps. “She just threw him into a wall!”

 

“I know, I was there,” Raven yells back before focusing her eyes on Lexa’s face. Lexa’s terrifying, deformed face. “Lexa,” she tries. “Please, please listen to me. We’re your friends. You lost your memory, but you have to know it somewhere. Me, O, Clarke, even Bellamy, we’re all friends, and if you kill one of them, you will never forgive yourself. Ever.”

 

Lexa scoffs. “I have no idea who any of you are,” she says. “But I do know what I am.” she throws a quick glance over her shoulder where Clarke is watching her, eyes hooded and smirk lazy. “I am starving.”

 

“Lexa, please, no!” Raven screams when the vampire lunges at Octavia who ducks and falls to the floor. She watches, helplessly, as she rolls over and tries to fight Lexa off, clutching something in her hand. “Wait, O, you can’t kill her, either!”

 

“Look!” Octavia cries, thrusting something at Lexa’s face who recoils, caught off-guard. “Look! We’re not lying, just look!”

 

In her grip, knuckles white from pressure, is a photograph Finn took of all of them last summer. They are at the beach, smiling into the camera - everyone except Lexa who’s looking at Clarke with a soft smile, an arm draped over her shoulder. It must have been knocked off the phone stand when Lexa pushed Clarke to the couch.

 

“I don’t understand,” Lexa blinks, all earlier aggression gone as she stares at the photo, confused. Clarke joins her, looking over her shoulder and frowning prettily at what she sees. “This is me. And you. With-” she looks up at Raven, flabbergasted. “With them.”

 

“Slayer!” someone yells outside, and everyone looks out the window where a mismatched mob walks through the street, smashing car windows and mailboxes on their way, lead by a blonde man in a black duster. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

 

Clarke’s eyes narrow. “Is that William-”

 

Bellamy swiftly knocking both of them out with a butt of his rifle to the temple is completely out of blue and therefore absolutely in line with the night’s theme. Raven’s not even that surprised. “I don’t hit women,” he says. “But desperate times-”

 

“Yeah, whatever, Rambo,” she sighs. “Let’s get them tied up and hope duct tape holds up against vampire strength.”

 

//

 

“I really am sorry,” Lexa repeats, rubbing her temple. “I don’t actually want to kill your sister. Or throw you into walls.”

 

“Well,” Clarke speaks up. “Actually.” When everyone’s eyes fall on her, she shrugs. “What? Not all the time. Only when they bring that fine Blake assholery to the table.”

 

“That sounded wrong on so many levels,” Raven notes, bringing another bag of frozen peas and offering it to Lexa who takes it gratefully, pressing it to her head.

 

“I’m sorry too,” Bell says, gesturing at Lexa’s hand that holds the peas. “That was so bizarre. LIke being in a dream, while aware of being in a dream.”

 

“A nightmare, more like it,” Clarke corrects him. “Not that it’s very uncommon here.”

 

“Is it too late to switch schools?” Lexa asks.

 

“Afraid so.”

 

They woke up tied to a pole in Raven’s basement, with Raven and the Blake siblings watching them in tense silence. Clarke was ready to snarl and snap their necks when the same wave of dizzy nausea hit them, and everyone but Octavia doubled over, groaning in pain. When Clarke came to it a second time, Raven was fiercely hugging O and squeezing a dazed Bellamy’s hand who had a small toy rifle in his other one.

 

Lexa was even more dazed, blinking at her owlishly with hands tied behind her back. “There’s no way that actually happened.”

 

Except it did.

 

Now, they are sitting in Raven’s living room after helping her clean up. Bell got a tiny cut on his finger when picking up glass, and Clarke’s never been more relieved to feel sick when a tiny droplet of blood slid down his palm before he wiped it away.

 

Fucking Sunnydale.

 

“Well,” Bell clears his throat, standing up. Octavia joins him. “We better get going. The frat is most likely in ruins right now.” He grabs the last cookie from the plate on his way out. “See you guys later.”

 

“We should probably go back to the dorms, too,” Lexa says. “I really want to change out of this costume.”

 

“Agreed,” Clarke shudders. “Hey," she says, realizing something. "How come Octavia stayed herself?" 

 

"Oh, that's because she's the only one out of all of us who got her costume at a different shop," Raven replies. 

 

Clarke nods. "Well, Halloween might very well be ruined forever.”

 

“Yeah, right,” Raven snorts. “Say it to my face a year from now.”

 

They exchange hugs with her when they leave, and Clarke doesn’t quite catch the words Raven whispers to Lexa, but, judging by Lexa’s faint blush, it’s not something she wants to hear, anyway.

 

They walk down the street in tense silence, and Clarke’s never thought she’d say this, but Lexa’s presence is heavy and uncomfortable. Halfway through the walk, she has enough.

 

“Lexa-”

 

“Clarke-” Apparently, Lexa has the same idea. They look at each other, frozen, before laughing quietly, in unison.

 

“You go,” Lexa says when they calm down, and Clarke nods.

 

“Okay.” she takes a deep breath. “Okay.” and then she kisses her.

 

Lexa’s lips are soft and warm and don’t taste like blood at all. Clarke lets it ground her, lets out a soft sigh and leans even closer, looping her arms around her neck and smiling when she feels Lexa’s hands on the small of her back, tentative and gentle.

 

It’s bizarre. Kissing Lexa after kissing Lexa. Thinking of Lexa, a girl she met a year ago, and thinking of Lexa, her creation, her love, the one she’s lost over a century ago. Yearning for her - starving for her while being fully aware that the past she has in her head simply does not exist.

 

But at the same time, it’s the most intense feeling she’s ever experienced, and it might be terrible, but she kind of doesn’t want it to end just yet.

 

Will these memories ever fade? Will they clash with the life they used to have, or will they entwine each other until it’s all they know?

 

“Clarke.” Lexa’s lips are red and kiss-bruised. and her shuddering breath sends a shiver down Clarke’s spine, pleasant and sharp. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s not your fault, Lexa,” she says, but Lexa shakes her head, silencing her.

 

“No, I’m… This is confusing,” she starts quietly. “But - I’m sorry, my love,” gentle fingers under her chin, a thumb smoothing over her jaw. Clarke leans into it, heart bleeding all over. “For waiting so long to find you.”

 

“So you still remember, too,” Clarke exhales. Lexa watches tears slide down her cheek, slowly and silently, from blue eyes that sparkle with pain and relief.

 

Great. Not only were she and Lexa forced into a weird modern soulmate tale, her narrative might slip into an annoying flowery kind every now and then.

 

“Perhaps we’ll forget soon. Perhaps not.” Green eyes are earnest and soft. “Either way, I don’t think I care.”

 

And that - that’s all Clarke really needs to hear. A confirmation that Lexa’s not about to run off to deal with these overwhelming feelings on her own. A confirmation that Lexa will stay there.

 

“But you still have to buy me dinner first before putting your hands in… places,” she notes, enjoying Lexa’s blush.

 

Weird modern soulmate tale doesn’t sound so bad, anyway.

 

Not bad at all. 

Somewhere in the quiet of the night, the wind picks up a faint sound of giggling, carrying it above two girls softly kissing under moonlight.


End file.
